Black Knight Moves Forward
by the real snape
Summary: The Giant Wizard Chess is meant to protect the Philosopher's Stone. But, as Severus finds out, there's more to it than meets the eye.
1. Chapter 1

This story was written for the fabulous LJ fest HP_beholder, and, as always, my marvellous beta Kelly Chambliss improved it in so many ways.

All details on the various creatures in this story are based on _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _by Newt Scamander, 2001, Obscurus Books, 18a Diagon Alley, London, in association with Arthur A. Levine Books/Scholastic Press.

Without Mr. Scamander's classic and unsurpassed work this story could not have been written. Any errors, however, remain my own. The experiment described in this story must _never _be attempted in a non-fictional environment.

**Hogwarts, August 1st, 1991**

"…no other option but to comply with these plans, however unpleasant they are both for my esteemed colleague and myself."

The diction was faultless; the voice – Minerva had to admit it – rather beautiful; the little bow in her direction that accompanied the words _my esteemed colleague_ was executed to perfection. There weren't many men who could manage such a Regency-period movement without looking like a fool. And the way he leaned against the fireplace was the height of exquisite, elegant, _insufferable _arrogance.

Damn Severus Snape.

And to add insult to injury, he was right. Spending several weeks at Hogwarts during August _was _unpleasant; Minerva had hoped for some time in a truly sunny climate – the South of France, say, or Italy. She might still get it, but just for a week at the most. Not nearly enough to soak up enough warmth and light for the long winter months.

He was also right in that it was unavoidable. Minerva had gone over the facts time and again, hoping to avoid her current plight. But it all led up inexorably to today's meeting.

Nicolas's Owl was what had started it. As soon as Albus had shown her the parchment – and that was strange enough: the correspondence between those two was the private pleasure of two old friends – she had realized that something was seriously amiss.

_If it is at all possibly to spare me some time amidst your manifold duties at Hogwarts, Perenelle and I would greatly appreciate it if you could come to see us somewhat urgently. There's a small matter we'd like discuss – and, of course, Perenelle looks forward to cooking for a guest as appreciative as yourself._

A pleasant enough invitation, but for that one word. _Urgently._ Minerva had met Nicolas several times, and she knew that to him _urgency_ was what potty training was to her: while she knew perfectly well that at some point it must have played an important part in her life, since one didn't reach adulthood without the experience, she couldn't for the life of her remember what it felt like. So if Nicolas used the word _urgently_, there was only one thing to be done, and Albus did just that. He went the same evening, leaving Minerva with a decided sense of unease and some amused thoughts as to whether Perenelle would truly be pleased at having to provide a dinner at a mere hour's notice.

On his return, Albus had given her a succinct summary, still making light of the situation. There had been an attempted burglary. Nicolas and Perenelle had both been out, and the burglar or burglars hadn't managed to get past Nicolas's safety wards. Still, they were worried – understandable, Minerva had thought, given their age. Albus had told her gleefully how Nicolas had assured him he was still strong and powerful enough to deal with a burglar, but Perenelle had been quite upset. Minerva had briefly considered pointing out that Nicolas's ideas of dealing with a burglar himself might well have caused Perenelle's anxiety, but she had thought better of it. Albus himself wasn't young by anyone's standards, and some things were best left unsaid.

Then a second Owl had followed, resulting in some prolonged absences of Albus. And then they had, all five of them, Pomona, Filius, Hagrid, Severus and herself, been called back to Hogwarts for this special meeting. Albus had set the facts before them with his usual clarity.

Nicolas feared the burglary was aimed at the Philosopher's Stone. If the Stone were stolen, the consequences would be highly unwelcome for Nicolas and Perenelle. But if the followers of You-Know-Who were behind this, and both Nicolas and Albus feared such might be the case, it could be disastrous. No Death-Eater would bother to steal the Stone, Albus pointed out, without at least some idea of what to do with it. It might mean that some part of You-Know-Who had survived, or an Elixir of Life would be useless. And if that hypothetical surviving part could think, plan, and give commands, then the situation threatened the whole Wizarding World. Therefore, the Stone had to be protected, and there was only one place safer than Gringotts.

Hagrid had collected the Stone from Gringotts, Albus told them, combining the trip with his visit to young Harry Potter. At that point the meeting had run slightly out of order, as all teachers wanted to hear about Potter. All, that was, except Severus, who had leant against the chimney looking bored beyond words. Still, Minerva would be willing to bet a tidy sum that he had soaked up and remembered every snippet of information.

Finally, Albus had called the meeting to order, and they had established a procedure. The entrance to the hiding place would be on the third floor, it being unused for any teaching purposes and not frequented by students. Pomona would provide a giant Devil's Snare. After that, there was an ingenious set of safety measures. While a capable wizard might manage to get past one, or even two of them, it would take a conspiracy of men to get past all three. And a conspiracy of men would have some difficulty getting unseen into Hogwarts.

Filius would set up the charmed keys. He alone knew the countercharm that would allow entrance, and without that, it would take a player like Dangerous Dai Llewellyn to catch the right key – if the intruder had thought of bringing a broom in the first place.

Minerva would set up the Giant Wizard Chess, and again, she would be the only one who knew how to disarm it. And, as Albus pointed out, he himself would have a hard job getting past it – Minerva had beaten him often enough.

Severus would produce the potion that enabled one to pass through the fire – and the riddle to go with it.

Finally, Albus would set up the hiding place for the Stone, and he assured them that it would be impossible for any intruder to take it. At that point Pomona had sensibly asked whether Nicolas would still be able to get at it – otherwise the whole set-up would rather defy the purpose. But Albus had assured them that Nicolas, if accompanied by the guardians, would be able to take the Stone. Because he would want it for the right reasons, he added somewhat mysteriously.

Thus, even if someone would manage to get into Hogwarts, even if that someone would manage to cast an _Imperius _on one of the guardians, he would still not be able to reach the final hiding place. And even if, by some twist of fortune, he managed that, he would not be able to take the Stone.

Pomona and Filius would prepare their contributions and put them in place after Minerva and Severus had finished theirs. Hagrid's contribution would be a _very special creeter, _as he put it, that would guard the entrance. And that was where the problem lay. He still had to fetch the creature, a fact over which he apologised profusely, repeating several times that he had wanted to do things differently, had prepared for another way.

So Albus suggested that Minerva and Severus would prepare their contributions and guard the Stone until all safety measures, including the creature, were in place. In Minerva's case, on-site preparations were necessary, and it was clearly unthinkable to leave the protection of the Stone to just one person. Severus could use the school's Potion's lab; he didn't have definite plans for the holidays; he was the unavoidable choice.

She was going to spend two weeks at least with that insufferable Slytherin, who would be very polite while at the same time making it perfectly clear how unpleasant he found the situation. It was not to be borne! The exasperated cry, Minerva thought, of one who's forced by Fate or Albus (the distinction was moot) to do just that.

**Hogwarts, August 4th**

_Dear Madam, _[Minerva wrote]

_Thank you for your letter. While I fully understand your son's feelings towards his pet, I'm afraid the School Rules are quite strict in this respect. As mentioned in my previous letter, students are allowed to bring an owl, a cat, or a rat. This means, unfortunately, that your son's marmoset cannot accompany him._

And why anyone in their right mind would want to keep a marmoset at home was beyond her. Besides, what could be clearer than _a cat, an owl, or a rat_? Next thing you knew, someone would ask permission to bring a pet dragon.

Still, the parents' letters had to be answered, and things could be worse. If she had to work during her holidays, at least the letters were something that practically wrote themselves after all these years.

And the work with Severus, too, wasn't as bad as she had feared. He had turned out to be quite pleasant company, surprisingly enough. Well, it was not completely surprising. His presence at the High Table had always been a source of entertainment. His spot-on remarks often made her smile, and their banter and bickering over House Points and Quidditch matches gave her quite a frisson. A frisson caused by sparring with a mind as sharp as her own, as she had told herself time and again when Severus's voice or presence caused all sorts of reactions.

No, not 'all sorts of', that was a highly inaccurate description. What she felt was arousal, a feeling that she certainly knew well enough to recognize. But this was arousal caused by an intellectual challenge. By the pleasure of a sharp debate. After all, she was hardly the kind of woman who fancied younger men (but it was funny how often one forgot Severus wasn't a contemporary – his experiences with the Dark side had made him older than his years). And besides, he was the archetype of the Arrogant Slytherin.

For that very reason, she had had her reservations about working with him when he was appointed Head of House. But in the year that followed Severus's promotion, she had found that their collaboration brought not just the inevitable annoyance, but quite a bit of entertainment, too. Oh, they argued frequently. Severus was just as arrogant as she'd known he would be. But somehow it gave her energy, these arguments. It was always fun. A challenge. It had made her look at Severus in quite a different way …

Minerva picked up another scroll of parchment and wrote,

_Dear Sir,_

_I'm glad to hear you and your wife have such excellent memories of your years in Ravenclaw. I can readily understand that you would like your daughter to have the same experience. It is not, however, possible to guarantee her place in any house at this point. Hogwarts has never made exceptions with regards to the Sorting Ceremony._

While she made her quill write a standard, polite ending instead of _And how did you get into Ravenclaw, asking terminally stupid questions like this?_, she thought of the first dinners she'd had in Severus's company.

She had fully expected to experience the downside of his ready wit: the curt, dismissive way he had of stopping a conversation he found boring; of snubbing a colleague who was guilty of nothing more than making an effort to include him. True, he had never stopped or snubbed her (he had survived the years of You-Know-Who; there was nothing wrong with his sense of self-preservation), but she had seen it happen often enough to believe him quite incapable of sustained politeness.

It was what she disliked most about him, and what had made the idea of their joint guardianship so irksome. She, too, found several colleagues exceedingly annoying. She deplored the fact that too often the High Table conversation was merely a succession of clichés and old jokes, or a whinge on students' misbehaviour. But they all had to work together, and it couldn't be done without a certain amount of forbearance and politeness. Why didn't the bloody man make more of an effort?

But these last few days it was as if she was seeing a different Severus. Sharp and entertaining as always, but instead of the stilted conversation she had expected (for how long could one speak of last year's Quidditch competition?) they had chatted easily on all sort of things.

She had prepared a list of talking points for their first dinner. His now aborted plans for the holiday. What he liked to do in his leisure hours. A question on recent developments in potions. But somehow a brief outline of his plans for research in Montpellier had led to a discussion of the Provence, which they found they both loved, and from there … Time had flown.

And now, two days later, Minerva positively looked forward to dinner. Just two more hours. She picked up her quill and reached for the next scroll.

_Dear Augusta,_

_Thank you for your letter. I am looking forward to seeing your grandson at Hogwarts. And Neville must have been overjoyed, indeed, to get a broom for his eleventh birthday. Still, I'm afraid he cannot bring it with him;_

[Minerva interrupted her writing and gazed out of the window. The broom practice field looked just so – Hagrid kept the grounds beautifully. And there was Argus, scuttling towards the castle, Mrs. Norris in his arms. He looked angry. Not Peeves, please, not Peeves again. As to Augusta … would being old school chums allow her to write "as you know perfectly well, and must you be as annoying as you were at seventeen"? No, better not.] _as you know, first years are not allowed to bring a broom._

_Yours sincerely,_  
><em>Minerva McGonagall<em>  
><em>Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry<em>

Only eight more to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hogwarts, August 5th**

Softly, carefully, Severus entered the room. It was never a good idea to startle a witch or wizard in the middle of a high-level magical job, and when that job involved a larger-than-life chess set (with larger-than-life swords) it would be madness, indeed.

He watched with keen interest as Minerva, with a flick of her wand, put the final touches on the face of a pawn. She looked up, about to move on to the next one, and Severus gently moved towards her, disengaging himself from the shadows.

"Did I startle you?" he queried. "I tried to avoid just that."

"No, not at all. What … is there something wrong?"

Which was typical of Minerva – it was not that she necessarily took a gloomy view on things, but whenever something was wrong people expected her to solve it. Which she did. He had often thought that it would do their colleagues all the good in the world to sort out their own messes, just for once. But Minerva invariably stepped into the breach. It was what he most disliked about her – the constant dissimulating. Surely, anyone as intelligent as she shouldn't suffer fools gladly? But most of the time she seemed resigned to doing just that, and Severus loathed saintly resignation. True, in the case of Sybill the irritation shone through occasionally – and it was at one of those moments he had realised just how attractive Minerva could be. _For a woman of her age,_ he had corrected his thoughts at the time, and then, after looking at the other women at the High Table, _for any age. I could fancy her. _And he had spent the rest of the dinner glaring at a universe that made him fancy someone who was much older and a Gryffindor, too.

"Severus? There is something wrong! I know it."

Realising how long he'd stood and stared, he replied quickly, "No, not really. But Argus came to see me. He's a bit upset."

"Not Peeves again? I saw him yesterday – Argus, I mean – and he looked angry; usually, that means Peeves."

"No, not Peeves. It's Mrs. Norris. She went into the Forbidden Forest yesterday, and Argus says something upset her. And there was a sort of scorch-mark on her tail. I've checked it; it's very faint. But Argus is convinced there's something dangerous in the Forest."

"There are lots of dangerous things in the Forest. It's why it's called _Forbidden_, but people have an uncommon ability to overlook the obvious," Minerva sighed. "We'll have to look into it, I suppose. What do you think? Ashwinders?"

"It seems the most likely answer, yes. I did promise Argus we'd have a look – he wasn't very keen on exploring, understandably."

Minerva nodded. As they both knew, entering the Forbidden Forest without any kind of magical ability was unwise, to say the least. They would have to go themselves. At least today was a fine day, the first really hot and dry day in weeks.

"We could take a picnic," Minerva suggested unexpectedly. "Enjoy the sun for a bit."

"It's an idea," Severus answered, somewhat circumspectly. He enjoyed his dinners with Minerva. But an outing – a picnic? She probably only suggested it because she felt it would be a kind thing to do – in a 'Snape looks so pale, let's get him out of doors for a bit' way. Normally, he made short shrift of that kind of condescending, do-goody nonsense. But a flat refusal would ruin the pleasant atmosphere they had enjoyed so far.

"All right. I'll ask the House-Elves to prepare us a basket," said Minerva. Ah, well, that was settled, then. The Forbidden Forest was beautiful at this time of the year. It might not be too awkward. And now that they had made their plans to deal with the Ashwinders, he could do what he had wanted to do ever since Minerva started her preparations: learn more about the workings of Giant wizarding chess pieces. He crossed the room to the edge of the board.

"Is it safe?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, nothing is in place yet. Well, the pieces, obviously, but no spells."

He stood next to her, looking at the giant chess pieces. It was an impressive sight. "Most of the pawns look all right," he said, "but the other pieces seem … odd, somehow. Unfinished. Why's that?"

"They were small pieces, for a table set. Which means the level of detail in the carvings wasn't very high. For a giant board I'll have to change that, or we'll have a king who can't see properly, or a knight whose horse will stumble."

"I see. I never thought of that. It seems a hellish amount of work. How do you set about it? Is there a standard design that you have to follow?"

Minerva pointed at a pawn. "What I do," she said, and she sounded as if she genuinely enjoyed his interest, "is to take the design that is already there, and then I add the details – eyes, mouth, ears, hands, every bit. It gets easier once you've done a few." She flicked her wand, murmured the spell, and they both watched intently as the pawn's eyes took shape. The iris was clearly defined, the eyelids blinked, and finally the pawn's eyeballs moved as it looked around. "It'll be able to turn its head when I've done the body details," Minerva added. "But it doesn't have to be this design. It could be any face you want to – only I couldn't. I've no talent for drawing. Following what's there is about all I can manage. When I was a student my botanical sketches were a disaster. Can you draw at all?"

"Yes, actually," Severus replied. That sounded boastful. He toned it down a bit. "Well, let's say I can catch a likeness. I'm not much of an artist, but … May I?" He pointed at the white king.

"Go ahead, as long as you can put it back to the original," Minerva grinned. Severus took a good look at the piece as it stood, the better to memorize the very unremarkable features. Then he pointed his wand, and slowly the white king changed. The beard grew long and pointy, the crown changed into a well-known hat, the eyes looked merrily from under bushy eyebrows, and the mouth twisted in what was unmistakeably Albus's smile when he had just said something outrageous.

"Brilliant! It's just so. Can you do another one?" Minerva begged.

"Of course. Let's see … yes, that would be fitting, I think." Some more wand-work, and the right rook suddenly shifted shape, the crenulations changed into bushy hair, and Hagrid's face beamed at them. Then Severus turned to the other rook, and the face grinning from it was Filius's. He hadn't changed anything to the height of either tower, though – he hoped she'd understand why.

"You're so right!" she exclaimed. "They are towers of strength, both of them. Size has nothing to do with it. Severus, that's a real talent you have. I had no idea!"

"It's nothing much," Severus said, suddenly insecure. Surely, so much enthusiasm wasn't real? People who made a point of starting a conversation simply to include him, or rather, to do their good deed for the day, were the bane of his existence. _He may be a Death-Eater, but the War is past us now, and we must all be very magnanimous and forget about that sort of thing. I mean, look at Dumbledore! He gave him a job. We must all make a point of saying something nice. _Minerva was the only one who didn't – who argued, betted (and often won), and insulted him to her heart's content, and they both enjoyed it thoroughly. Or at least he did, and he hoped the enjoyment was mutual.

Well, if she really liked his meagre talent – only one suitable position for her, of course. Everyone knew how close Minerva and Albus were. Generations of romantically-inclined students maintained the idea there was something between them. Trust the little dunderheads not to see the flaming obvious. And even some of his colleagues were convinced Minerva was secretly in love with Albus. But she was the Deputy Headmistress, so even if there was a grain of truth in the rumour (it would explain that Ministering Angel impersonation of hers) she'd have no reason to think that Severus knew of her feelings even if he made her the Queen.

"I couldn't do you justice. But it is your rightful place, of course."

Minerva followed Severus's outstretched hand. "The Queen? Heavens, no," she exclaimed. "I've quite enough of that already. No, what I'd enjoy …" She pointed at a knight.

"Do you mean that? I thought … I supposed … Well." _Heavens, no? _Not next to Albus? Emphatically not? With a quick smile Severus removed the helmet from one of the knights. Changing the body into Minerva's was more fun than it ought to be. All in all, this was turning out to be a highly enjoyable day.

Minerva gasped in surprise. True, he had outdone himself. It was a nearly-perfect likeness, as close to the attractions of the original as he could get.

"It's far too flattering," she said, "but thank you, it's lovely. I almost wish I could keep that one."

"It might not be such a bad notion," he suggested. "I'd have to make you a bit sterner, of course, but in the unlikely case of students reaching this point – the Weasley Twins suggest themselves – it might make them think twice. In their case, for a given definition of 'thinking'."

"It's an idea. But where the Twins of Doom are concerned, I feel that we teachers should stand united. You had better add yourself, too. What would you like to be?"

"A pawn would sum it up, I suppose."

"Severus! Don't be ridiculous. The other knight, please. Since I can't see you as Albus's queen, either," Minerva ordered. Albus's Queen? She could enjoy an Albus joke, then? With a chuckle, Severus waved his wand. Minerva smiled. The hair, the nose, the snarl – she clearly liked it.

He briefly considered the irony of more than a decade on the side of the angels, mostly filled with endless pinpricks. And now, at the mere suggestion of a Second Coming of the Dark Lord, he had a good time. Funny thing, allegiance.

"Very exaggerated, but perfect. Now, who do we put on the Black Team?" Minerva looked at him with laughter in her eyes. We're having fun, Severus thought. It's a completely incongruous notion, but I'm having fun – we're having fun together. And suddenly it felt like the most normal thing in the world, the only possible continuation of their banter at the high table. What had brought about the change? The dinners together? _Telling you she didn't want to be Albus's queen_, said a little voice in his head. That was nonsense, of course. What could it possibly matter to him to know she didn't carry a torch for Albus?

"Fudge," Minerva suggested, "the man's intolerable. He sent us seven Owls on Potter already."

"And you had to answer them? Then by all means, we fight Fudge. And I know a fitting Queen for him."

He changed the black king change into a Fudge dripping with bonhomie, and the black queen … the glasses, that was easy. The scarves – tricky, floating tissues were the very devil to get right … but the final result was recognisably Sybill.

"They're _meant _for each other," Minerva exclaimed.

"I can See it happen," Severus answered, with an exaggerated, deep, booming Seer's voice. That was over the top, he thought, suddenly insecure. How far could he go in this unchartered territory of fun and jokes? Of – could one call it 'friendship'? But Minerva laughed out loud and told him he had missed a wonderful career – people would believe everything he said.

"And Peeves," she added. "May I have Peeves?" That was easy - the bishop looked just so. Severus pointed his wand at the other bishop …

"Rita Skeeter! Severus, you're wicked! May we have Augusta Longbottom, too? Do you know her?"

"I've seen her once," Severus replied, turning towards a rook. The likeness was still passable, he thought. The vulture hat finished it off – bless the Longbottom woman for wearing something so typical. One could do a tree trunk with a vulture hat and people would still see Augusta.

Now, the other rook – since Minerva seemed to like his efforts. Who would he choose? Pomona! Every bit as annoying as Sybill, she was, and the worst of the do-gooders. The overly-encouraging smile … the hat … there, a bit of Flitterbloom dangling from the rim. That really was rather well-done, if he could say so himself. He finished it off with a flourish of his wand; inadvertently (but not unpleasantly) brushing against Minerva's shoulder and breast as he did so.

But as soon as he looked at Minerva, he realised something was amiss. The laughter had gone. In its place was an expression that could stop an army of Weasley Twins. Was it because of his touching her? Or had he simply outstayed his welcome? The latter, probably. And why should she be that much different from their colleagues? Clearly there was a limit to how much of his company she could stand.

"How on earth can you put _Pomona _on the Black Team? She's one of us!" Minerva exclaimed.

So that was it. Another dose of 'we must all work together'. While Severus was willing to accept one could not always choose one's colleagues, he saw no reason whatsoever to ignore their foolishness.

"Because it's fitting," he said curtly, and turned to change back the chess pieces. There was no chance that Sainted Minerva-the-marvellous-team-player would see his point of view. The only thing that could come of a further discussion was a very strained atmosphere; therefore such a discussion was best avoided. A quick bit of complicated spell-work (no-one in their right mind would interrupt a spell, not even to continue a quarrel) and then a rapid exit. It was the only way to stop a Gryffindor who was panting to fight the good fight.

"I'll see you later," he said as he rushed out. He would, as a courtesy, check the hall around one, but neither Minerva nor the picnic basket would be there, of course. And then he'd go to the Forest and deal with those blasted Ashwinders. A few hours outside would do him good. Far more peaceful than this whole friendship thing – dammit, it _was_ uncharted territory. Give him a quiet stroll in the Forbidden Forest anytime. You knew where you were with Unicorns and Thestrals.

o+o+o+o

Minerva saw Severus disappear with mounting irritation. Must the man always make such a show of billowing robes? As to that little ruse of him … Really, starting on spell-work just to avoid a conversation. All right, a quarrel. How typical of Severus to make such a bloody arrogant statement and then rush out without a word of explanation. She had a good mind to let him stew in his own potions for a while.

On the other hand, not going to that picnic could be seen as churlish. They had to work together for a few days more, and she had no intention of being the one at fault. She would go; she would be polite – as impeccably polite as Severus himself would be, for two could play at that little game.

And during their lunch, she would call him to account for that unacceptable prank on Pomona. For that was what it was. Severus's sense of inter-house collaboration was about as well-developed as that of his little Slytherins, and it was about time someone taught him a lesson.

She was more than willing to be that someone. So much for any foolish notion of friendship, or better understanding, or ... or flirting. For she had thought he was flirting with her, the evening before. Today even, when he made that very flattering portrait. When he had brushed against her, there had been a look in his eyes that had been positively inviting. And that just after insulting Pomona! Minerva remembered the response of her own body with a flush of anger.

Not that it was her fault that her nerve endings worked, of course.

Minerva turned to her chess board. She could do a few more pieces before lunch. It would give her time to think about what she would say to the insufferable man.


	3. Chapter 3

The Forbidden Forest was stunning on this most perfect of summer days. Sunlight dappled through the trees, the ferns were lush and green, birds sang, even the squirrels had returned, now that they realised the two humans who had invaded their territory weren't going to make unexpected movements or noises. In the small clearing they had chosen for their picnic, Minerva basked in the sun. Severus thought, not for the first time, that there were several good reasons her Animagus form was a cat.

It took quite an effort not to start a conversation – on the pleasures of the summer day, or on the antics of two particularly energetic squirrels that chased each other down trees and up branches – surely not up that very thin branch? Yes, they managed. They would catch up occasionally, play for a few frantic minutes, and then chase each other around again. Much like Minerva and himself. Attract and run. Have fun together. Run again.

But Minerva was clearly not in the mood for banter. She was eating her lunch with cold dignity. Or rather she was trying to do so, but eating grilled chicken wings and dignity didn't go well together. Severus nearly smiled at her efforts.

"What on earth made you put Pomona among the enemies?"

The sudden question interrupted Severus's musings. For one moment, he was baffled. Hadn't he made it perfectly clear? Surely, Minerva found Pomona as annoying as he did? And had merely rushed in, in true Gryffindor style, to defend a colleague. Or had she? Now that he thought of it, he had seen them chatting and laughing together.

"She is your friend."

A statement, but not quite. Minerva nodded in confirmation.

"Yes. And she's your friend, too, I'd say," she replied, still sounding angry. "She's always so kind and interested."

"I see," Severus replied. If Minerva had seen his little joke as an insult to a friend, he had hurt her feelings. Whatever his thoughts on the Sprout, that had not been his intention. If he wanted to keep their relation as pleasant as it had been over the past few days – and he suddenly realised he wanted that very much – he'd have to offer some kind of explanation. "I can see why you would call her that. Kind and interested, I mean. But it's not because she's my friend, I think." It got him a look of blank surprise. Did Minerva truly not realise what was going on?

"Pomona always makes a point of including me in a conversation," he said, keeping his true feelings on the sanctimonious busy-body out of his voice. "But I'm afraid she rather sees me as her good work for the day. She's intentionally kind to the former Death Eater. And …" He'd have to tread very carefully here. "And, while I'm willing to believe you if you say she means well, I find that – most of the time –" _Bloody patronising. Condescending. An insult._" Well, I find it rather unpleasant."

"You think Pomona sees you as some sort of Good Cause? Is that why you always snub her?" Minerva asked. Severus noted that the anger was replaced by incredulity. So Minerva had truly not realised what was going on? In that case, he could see why his putting Pomona in the same category as Fudge and Sybill made her angry. And he had had no idea at the time. That chess board was a lethal trap in more ways than one.

"I've always ended our conversations as quickly as possible," he admitted. _And I would dearly like to see how you would react after a decade of being Hogwarts Official Charity. I've a feeling you would come up with a hex or two that might surprise even me. _Minerva just stared at him, the half-eaten chicken wing still in her hand. She would drop it on her robe, if she wasn't careful. The silence became heavier by the second, and Severus couldn't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't be a new insult to the Sprout, and therefore to Minerva. A strategic retreat seemed the best option.

"I'd better have a little look around now," he offered. "You finish your lunch – take your time – I'll just see …"

He got up and mad his way to the little sandy path that curled through the trees.

o+o+o+o

Minerva stared at his fast-disappearing back, unable to come up with a response. That was why Severus snubbed or ignored Pomona so often? Because he thought she saw him as a good cause? As someone to be _pitied_? The idea was ludicrous. Utterly ridiculous. Preposterous! Pomona was truly kind. How could Severus think …

Well, in a way Pomona did pity him. She felt sorry for him, had often told Minerva how she wished Severus would join in more. But that was because she was genuinely concerned about his loneliness. And she had made every effort possible to include him more. Despite the arrogant sod's rudeness. And he thought Pomona didn't mean it? That was …

True, it was perhaps not entirely unjustified – but it was his own fault. Pomona might not really enjoy Severus's company the way Minerva did herself. Pomona might not feel that little thrill of pleasure when she saw him at the High Table. She might talk to him more because that was the kind of lovely, warm-hearted person she was than because she was actually glad to see him. But given Severus's spiteful response, it was a perfectly normal reaction. Now, if Pomona could see Severus the way he had been for the past few days …

On the other hand, Severus was clearly convinced Pomona saw him as some kind of charitable work. And that must have felt … _unpleasant_, he had called it. Make that bloody condescending. Patronizing. However wrong he was, she could understand his feelings.

Minerva sighed. It was a vicious circle – Pomona, other colleagues too, would be kind to Severus. He'd see it as an insult, and from his point of view, it was. So he sneered them away, they disliked him for it, and they kept going round and round the bloody mulberry tree.

She ought to get up and follow him. Say something. Discuss the problem. Only, he had walked away from their discussion in the first place. Would he consider it intrusive, or, Merlin forbid, condescending on her part if she brought the subject up again? Would he think she pitied him, too? Did she, after this?

On the other hand, saying nothing would seem callous in the extreme. So all in all she really should think of _something _to say. Something like …

_"Minerva!"_

Minerva was up and running, wand drawn, before she had time to think, he sounded that urgent. When she reached the bend in the path where Severus stood, there was a look of relief on his face.

"You're all right!" he said. "Thank Merlin for that. Look here! What do you make of this?" He pointed at the sandy path. Minerva gasped in surprise.

"Acromantulas? In this part of the forest? But …" She looked closer, then looked at Severus. "What on earth is this?" she asked.

"I've no idea. I thought like you at first, that it was an Acromantula. Those traces…" Severus pointed at the marks, unmistakeably those of a giant spider. Only, in the middle the path looked as if something very heavy had been dragged along. Spiders didn't drag things – nor did Acromantulas. And …

"Mrs. Norris's scorched tail," Minerva whispered. The path was strewn with little twigs and a few long-dried remains of leaves. And at fairly regular intervals, along the traces of the … thing … there were little heaps of ash where the twigs had burned, with scorched twigs alongside.

Minerva looked up. "We must notify Albus at once," she said and prepared herself for a lengthy argument. Severus would want to deal with it on his own – men did. Two wars and half a lifetime in a managerial position had left her with a sound, if not precisely optimistic, knowledge of male behaviour patterns. And with an ever-increasing appreciation for Filius, who had an uncanny insight in people, and who knew (she was convinced of it) all about sex, but who never judged on gender – or size, or age, for that matter. But Filius was a rare exception, so she mentally listed her arguments.

"You're right," Severus said.

"Really, we must. What with a possible attack on the Stone, we can't risk anything happening to us, or one of… what did you say?"

"I said that you were right," Severus replied, with mild surprise. The man agreed? Just like that?

"Clearly Albus must be informed," Severus continued. "We need to make sure neither Argus nor a House-Elf ventures out until we know more. And Albus must know about this. He may want to bring in reinforcements. Hagrid, for instance. That man knows a thing or two about Magical Creatures and… Merlin's blistering bollocks!"

"And what?" Minerva couldn't suppress a chuckle, even though Severus glared in a way that could Petrify the Giant Squid.

"Enjoy your laugh – it won't last," Severus sighed. "Do you know what this means? Remember when Albus told us about the creature Hagrid would fetch? How Hagrid said he had prepared for another way? That's what this is, and I'll bet you ten Galleons on it. That bowtruckle-brained idiot has tried…"

"Another breeding experiment," they said in unison, staring at each other in disbelief.

"Surely not? Not with …?" As Minerva spoke the words, she realised how that would be the whole attraction for Hagrid. He loved his Acromantulas. "He gives them names," she said.

"And now, I think, he has given them fire." Severus had had no difficulty following her thoughts – as usual. Minerva knew it wasn't Legilimency, just understanding each other.

"Can you get hold of Albus?" Severus asked, interrupting her thoughts, which was by far the best thing, given the way they were going. By now, Minerva was quite certain she didn't pity Snape. And what she felt for him might have started with the attractions of his mind, but right now ... Of all the stupid things to think of at a moment like this. But he had seemed very concerned about her when he found this trail. More, perhaps, than a mere relationship between colleagues warranted? No, that was nonsense. Wishful thinking.

Yes, _wishful _thinking was the correct term for it.

More fool she.

They walked back to the castle in companionable silence, occasionally interrupted by a suggestion as to what the creature would look like and what they could do to eliminate it. And, on Severus's part, a comment or two on what he would like to do to Hagrid. Minerva found herself agreeing with him, even though the finished product of the Snapely Make-Over might be worse than the Thing in the Forest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hogwarts, August 6th**

Severus's knife cut with satisfying smoothness. Unfortunately, the sliced object was a rasher of bacon, not Hagrid or his infernal creation. "Run it by me again," he sighed. "The big oaf did _what_?"

"He tried to cross-breed Fire Crabs and Acromantulas. And, strange as it sounds, there was some reason to his madness. He felt that an Acromantula would be excellent for guarding the Stone – you know how they were originally intended to guard wizard dwellings or treasure, or so we believe."

"Yes. I've read Scamander's book, too," Severus answered. Not that he would be able to deliver such a near-verbatim quote. "And how, precisely, would cross-breeding them with Fire Crabs be a good idea?"

"Hagrid felt it would be unwise to introduce Acromantulas into the school. They are somewhat difficult to control."

"As are our students. A meeting would be inevitable."

"Quite. Especially since the Acromantulas are highly intelligent."

"Unlike our students." Severus couldn't resist the opportunity.

"Fire Crabs are herbivores," Minerva explained, smiling at his remark. "Hagrid felt that a combination of the Acromantula's intelligence and fearsome looks, and the Fire Crab's flames and herbivorous nature, would result in a species that could guard the Stone effectively. He was particularly chuffed with the idea of a creature that shoots flames from behind – it would give a clear message to an intruder, without immediate risk. He wanted to call them _Blast-ended Mantulas._"

"And where did this well-laid plan go wrong?"

"The creature's body is too heavy – the shell of the Fire Crab weighs a lot. And the spiders' legs can't cope with it. So, basically, it's unable to move properly – most of the animals couldn't move at all. It renders them useless as guards and unable to survive on their own. There were only two that could get about. Before he went off, Hagrid did consider putting them down, but he felt they deserved a chance, and since they are, indeed, plant-eaters, he thought there was no risk."

"Thank Merlin for the wet, Scottish summers. We could have lost the better part of the Forest," Severus sighed. "So, if I get it right, there's two of them. Barely able to move, shooting flames from behind, and since the dry spell is likely to last for a day or so, we need to find them rather urgently."

"That's the situation in a nutshell, Severus. Well done. It's a pity term hasn't started yet, or I'd award five points to Slytherin," Minerva replied. "Now, do you have an equally Slytherin plan for dealing with them?"

"We'll follow the ash trail," Severus suggested, "and then we'd best approach the creature on two sides. We find out which end shoots the flames, and then I'd suggest a killing curse between the eyes – painless and quick. From what I've heard, it might be better than letting the things 'take their chance'. Totally misguided kindness, that." He looked at Minerva to see how she would take it – would she accept his view, or take pity on Hagrid and his infernal invention? For Hagrid would be devastated.

"You're quite right," Minerva said, with more enthusiasm than he had expected. Nothing of the sentimentalist about her, then? One might award five points to Gryffindor, for a rare display of common sense.

On the other hand, one might deduct ten points for giving a man idiotic dreams about chess pieces in a Knight's armour, but with interesting curves, that came to life in the arms of a knight in black – and then, suddenly, there had been no armour on either side; it was always so easy in dreams, wasn't it, no fumbling, no spells, just everything as one wanted it to be.

Or should he award ten points for that dream? It had been quite something. Well, today it seemed he could play at knight-in-black-armour. With a creature that spouted flames in the best dragon-tradition. Without any of the blushing maiden nonsense – he rather liked the thought of Knight Minerva. If she gave him even the smallest encouragement, he might celebrate their victory with a quick kiss. Not that she would encourage him, of course. But a man could have his fantasies.

Severus munched his second helping of bacon with something resembling benevolence.

o+o+o+o

"There's the trail!" Minerva pointed to the little heaps of ash. Now that she knew what it was, she could see traces of the Fire Crab's shell – it did look as if something had been dragged along. Clearly, the things could only move themselves with great difficulty; Severus was right that there was no point in prolonging their lives. And his plan of action was most satisfying. Sensible, humane, and he had shown no hesitation in including her. That really felt rather marvellous. During the Grindelwald War, it had taken more energy to be considered for active duty than to perform it. _Miss McGonagall can deliver the messages. The ladies can look after the wounded._ Things had improved somewhat over the years – a few more witches in prominent positions, and Amelia Bones did sterling work in promoting more women, but after years of negotiating with Fudge (_And what does Albus have to say about this? Let's check that first, shall we?_) Severus's attitude was novel and quite … exciting.

"The ashes are still glowing; it must be quite near. There – what's that?" Severus turned his head in the direction of a faint, clicking sound. It came from behind a dense cluster of trees. They both ran towards it, Severus to the left, Minerva to the right, to get them each on one side of whatever loomed behind the trees.

"Ye gods – it's a carnage!" Severus shout came from the other side of … what exactly were they looking at? A huge mass of spiders' legs, blood, and torn-off pieces of meat. One of the spider-crab things, that much was clear. And next to it, a giant stone? No, it moved. A giant carapace – it was the other one. Lashing around with its legs, trying to move towards the slain creature, but unable to do more than turn aimlessly in a circle.

Minerva wasn't sure which side was the head until one end spouted a long flame that nearly hit Severus. Thank Merlin for dragon hide – and for Severus's excellent reflexes.

"WATCH OUT!" he shouted, and ran towards the thing, carefully steering clear of the flames. Minerva ran to the other end, casting a _Petrificus _as she went. She noticed that Severus Stunned the animal, as well. She had no idea which spell had hit home, but the large legs stopped their frantic movement. Severus stepped towards what had to be the head and aimed carefully.

"There's eight eyes, all right," he said, "but there isn't much space between, so…" Suddenly, the huge creature moved, and Severus shot a green light from his wand. "Aveda Kedavra!" He took a few steps back. Minerva hurried towards him. She gasped in surprise at the sight. The thing had opened its mouth. Teeth as long as a grown man's hand.

"A plant-eater, Hagrid said?" Severus queried.

"Essentially a harmless creature. Those were his words. I could murder him for this! Do you think this one killed the other?"

"I can't think what else would cause such damage. Do you see those teeth? They're tusks, almost."

"Well, at least we got rid of them. And now I'm going back to Floo Albus. I don't intend to spend the next days worrying about the kind of animal Hagrid will bring to protect the Stone, and …"

"You won't," Severus interrupted her. "Have to worry about that, I mean. Listen. Do you hear it, too?"

Minerva listened and felt her blood turn to ice. The clicking sound they had heard on the path hadn't stopped. In fact, it was coming closer.

"And this," Severus said, pointing at the Blast-ended Mantula, "This doesn't even have pincers to click with. Which means …"

They both moved at the same time, instinctively standing back to back as they scanned the line of trees around the clearing.

"There!" Minerva shouted, as the first Acromantula rushed forward. "Between the eyes – or right in it!"

"Or in the mouth, that works too!" Severus yelled back.

_Great,_ Minerva thought. _Wait till you see the white of their teeth. _Take up teaching, her former Head of House had said, a safe and suitable career for a girl. She aimed her wand at the nearest Acromantula and Stunned it. It did stop running, but the pincers still clicked in an ominous manner. Not the time to take the animal-friendly view, then.

Both she and Severus cast spells and green fire in all directions – how many were there? Finally, no further spider showed up. They stood both very still, listening carefully, trying to separate the sound of the tell-tale clicking from their own, ragged breaths.

"This seems to be it," she finally said.

"Nine of them," Severus panted. "Now, run!"

They raced back to the castle, not stopping till they were safely inside. Once they had caught their breath, Severus went off to warn Filch, and Minerva descended to the kitchens to give warning to the House-Elves. Once that was done, and once the House-Elves had expressed their gratitude in tea, cake and sandwiches, Minerva went to the staff room, staggering slightly under the heavy tray that she had insisted on carrying herself. The Elves were upset enough as it was.

Severus had made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, but he leapt up as soon as she came in.

"Here, let me help with that," he said, taking the tray from her. Did he touch her hands longer than necessary? Was there a special meaning to his solicitude? Was she, Minerva McGonagall, behaving like a love-sick student? Not quite. Her students wouldn't think carrying a tray was anything special. Bless their romantic little hearts, they would have wanted Severus to attack every spider single-handedly, and preferably with the Sword of Gryffindor. But Minerva preferred a man who was willing to lend a helping hand over a Knight in Shining Armour. She had never quite seen why a man's ability to slay a dragon or, as some fairy-tales would have it, to mount a glass hill on horseback, would make him more attractive. Rare though the skills might be, what kind of a guarantee were they for future happiness?

With an effort, Minerva turned her thoughts to the problem at hand. The real problem.

"Do you know the size of Hagrid's colony?" she asked Severus, once they were both seated.

"We're never out of Acromantula poison – and it's pretty hard to get. There must be more of them, somewhere."

"We _are _talking about a large colony, aren't we?" Minerva whispered.

"Yes. I think so. I've no idea how large exactly, but while we were there, I kept wondering …"

Minerva heaved a deep sigh. "Hagrid caused this, he can sort it out," she suggested. "And then he can start explaining – and it had better be good. A whole colony of Acromantulas out here somewhere? And he's breeding with them? Close to a school? Of all the irresponsible things!"

"I must give Hagrid one thing," Severus mused, "we've never had trouble before. He seems to have them well under control, or safely in one special spot, at least. I wonder what made them come out …"

"Those _things_," Minerva snapped. "Those aptly-named _Blasted _Mantulas. I dare say they got wind of it – and didn't like them. You see, Hagrid was right after all. The Mantulas do eat plants, and …"

"The Acromantulas ate them," Severus finished her sentence. "Or at least destroyed them. I must say I can see their point."

o+o+o+o

With great care Severus put the bottles on the side-board. He quickly checked the room. Everything was in perfect order.

_Now, give me a little encouragement,_ he had thought when he had killed the Blasted Mantula. _Just a little bit …_And then the giant spiders had charged.

By the time they were back at the castle and had regained their breath, the chances of a victory kiss were null and void. But he had not quite given up hope. When Minerva had brought in the tea tray, he had leapt to her assistance. For one brief second, as their hands touched, he had thought he'd heard her breath quicken; he had believed that she was interested. Instead, she had asked him about the size of the spider colony, every inch the calm and capable Deputy Head who dealt with a problem.

But the game wasn't over yet. Black Knight moves forwards.

Tonight, he would behave like a perfect gentleman. A perfect, Slytherin gentleman.

He had donned his most elegant robes. And, more importantly, he had made a little trip to that part of the dungeons that contained, to coin one of Albus's phrases, _potions beyond anything we brew here_. How Muggles managed to achieve the Transfiguration of grape juice into liquid velvet with chocolate undertones and just a hint of the tartness of brambles, he'd never understand.

Of course, he wouldn't press wine on Minerva, or make her drink more than she wanted. But the Burgundy would be there. And after that, an excellent Firewhisky.

"Give me just a little encouragement," Severus whispered.

o+o+o+o

Minerva slowly walked towards the staff room. They had taken to dining there, rather than in the Great Hall. It was cosier, and there were comfortable chairs – they had taken to having coffee and a drink there, as well. And tonight, she looked forward to it even more than usual.

Something had changed between them, that afternoon. She had realised it as they had walked back to the castle. It wasn't so much in what they had said – they had always been pretty outspoken together. It was more in how much they had felt they could say, in a lack of caution. _I don't feel I have to weigh my words any more,_ she thought. _Ever since we got this assignment together, I was careful not to break the pleasant atmosphere. Treading on eggshells. And I think Severus was, too. We've stopped doing that._

Clearly, fighting off Acromantulas was a bonding experience. There could be an interesting team-building training there. It would beat mere role-play any day. On the other hand, perhaps not. She doubted whether building a better team ought to start with 'first, assemble the body parts'.

For now, she merely looked forward to a nice, relaxing dinner with a friend. _For which you've dressed up to the nines? _she thought. _And that little nap you had this afternoon? Your dream started with fighting Acromantulas, but then the two of you were kissing like mad, and it ended with … _It had ended with taking a cold shower. And a steadying dram. Now she'd think no more of the nonsense; she would simply enjoy her dinner.

As she entered the room, Severus, who looked his most suave – had he dressed up, too? Surely not? - carefully uncorked a bottle of wine. It had a small layer of dust on it.

"I've looted Albus's stock of burgundy," Severus said. "I felt we deserved something decent to drink to our victory."

"Albus would want to be present in spirit," Minerva nodded.

"Quite. That's why I've looted his whisky as well."

They both laughed. He handed her a glass, and admired the colour of his own. "Liquid rubies. He does himself well – and he owes us one, for today's work."

Minerva looked up in surprise. This was fairly outspoken. Severus seldom criticised Albus – not when others could hear him. Severus looked back and smiled, almost apologetically.

"This was beyond a joke," he finally said. "When I heard those clicking pincers – I've some idea of how many there may be in the grounds. Given the stock of poison, I mean. And then, when I saw those last four coming – what if this is just the start, I thought. What if the whole bleeding lot is behind. I might not have been able to hold them for long enough – you could have been killed!"

Minerva put a reassuring hand on his arm. _He was even more terrified than I,_ she thought. _He knew what might have been there. And his only thought is that _I_ could have been killed? _She put down her glass and leaned over.

She wouldn't be acting out her dream – she had no intention of doing so. She would merely comfort a good friend, who would take a hug in the spirit in which it was meant – make that, the spirit in which it ought to be meant.

"We're both all right," she whispered, and gave Severus a quick kiss. He took it as she thought he would, leaning over, putting his arms around her, for a friendly hug, of course …

Only, that wasn't quite a hug, more like …

And his lips …

Oh, Merlin.

Oh, yes...


End file.
